


Believe in Demons

by janescott



Category: Adam Lambert RPF, American Idol RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Possession, supernatural themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-19
Updated: 2011-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:19:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris is possessed.<br/>A/N: Very, very AU. Adam is an excommunicated priest, and Kris has been possessed by a demon. Beta'd wonderfully by [info]equus07 Any and all mistakes are mine. NOT a chapter fic; maybe part of an occasional series. I am officially cheating on both my Bowie AND big bang fics now. Seriously. When did this take over my life? Oh. And there's no particular reason for Syria. I just remember watching a programme and this guy went to these Roman ruins that weren't well-known and I wondered why. Then obviously it nested in my subconscious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Believe in Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine; nothing belongs to me.

Adam knocks over his whiskey bottle, a glass and his alarm clock before he finally picks up the phone. His head is pounding and his guts are churning and whoever is on the other end of the line is about to get blasted.

“Hello? Father – I mean, Adam? Are you there?”

“'M here. What is it?”

“It's – it's Mrs. Allen, Adam.”

Some of the fog starts to clear a little from Adam's brain and he sits up on the bed. He's still wearing yesterday's (and possibly the day before) clothes and he smells like sweat, and alcohol. Vaguely he realises that Mrs. Allen is still talking and he focuses on her voice, squinting at the sun shining through the window.

“I – it's Kris. I don't know what to do. I've tried everything I can think of. I – it's going to sound crazy I know, and then I thought of you, and - ''

Adam's head starts to spin a little bit. “Mrs. Allen, you need to slow down. What's wrong?”

“It's Kris. I think – I think he's possessed.”

Adam blinks, holds the phone away from his ear for a moment, then puts it back, sure he's heard wrong.

“Um – he's what?” Even as he asks, Adam feels his heart sink to join the roiling party in his guts. He winces in pain when an impatient sigh echoes down the phone.

“Can you come up here, Adam, please? I don't know what else to do.”

Adam pinches the bridge of his nose and says nothing for a second. All he wants to do is slide back into bed and sink back into oblivion. But, he knows he can't. Mrs. Allen is one of the few people who have given him the time of day since he moved to Conway. And Kris … Adam sighs and says, “Sure, of course. I just – let me take a shower and get dressed. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

She's still saying thank you when he hangs up the phone. He contemplates the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed, and picks up a pair of jeans and t-shirt that look reasonably clean. Trying to ignore his head and his stomach, he ducks under a quick shower, gets dressed and pops two Advil with a large glass of water. It's not really going to help, he knows, but he knows that if he opens a bottle now, he'll be done for the rest of the day.

Sighing, he pulls on his helmet in the hallway. He goes out to the front of the house where his motorbike is parked. He settles on it, and kicks it into life, wincing when the roar of it drills into his brain.

It's a warm day, but Adam feels a chill settle into his bones that won't shift.

At 30, on the surface, he still looks good. Okay, so his hair is a little too long, and maybe he's starting to get a little gut from the drinking. But he's tall enough to carry it off. His eyes are a little dead, but that can be blamed on the alcohol as well. He divides his life now into two parts: Before Syria, and After Syria.

Adam has been in Conway for two years: a disgraced, defrocked, excommunicated priest, washed up on the dry shores of Arkansas after he returned from Syria, insisting that the Roman Catholic Church's Rite of Exorcism doesn't work. Before Syria, he had been a well-respected priest. After Syria, he's become the cautionary tale for young seminarians.

The sudden loss of what had been his family since leaving home at 18, throws Adam into shock. To banish the nightmares of the exorcism that led him to Syria, and to his excommunication, he starts looking for answers at the bottom of a bottle.

The parish priest at the local church had taken pity on him, when he landed in Conway, and Adam had been living with Father McCall ever since; picking up work here and there – less often lately.

Adam thinks about Kris as he rides. Not too closely. He never thinks about Kris too closely. He thinks that if he does, he'll just burn out altogether. He'll be done. When Adam thinks of Kris, he sees light. Just. Light. And because Adam has inhabited some very dark places in the world, he carefully navigates around Kris' light, so as not to smear it, or make the sharp lines of it blurry.

He'd become friends with Mrs. Allen after moving to Conway, and he appreciated that – having someone to talk to. She was a smart woman, a widow, who had raised Kris on her own after his father died when Kris was a toddler. She had traveled a lot and Adam enjoyed talking to someone with such a sharp mind. He'd hardly seen her lately, though, as he started to become even more invested in finding the bottom of every bottle of booze he could find. He'd told her bits and pieces about his past, but certainly not everything, and he was grateful that she didn't push.

Sighing, Adam carefully rounds the last corner, the hum of his motorbike still drilling through his head. He thinks about the phone call as he parks the bike outside the Allens' house. Possession, he thinks. Probably not. It's usually drugs, or latent, untreated mental illness. Very rarely is it a genuine case of possession. Adam's only seen one case in all the years he spent first as a priest, then as an exorcist for the church. Before – before Syria, and before the church unceremoniously threw him out.

He gets to the Allen's and studies the house for a moment. Nothing unusual on the surface; a perfectly nice, two-storey home in the better part of town. Adam parks his bike, takes off his helmet, rakes his hand through his hair, and goes up to the front door. Before he knocks, he spreads his palm on the wood and closes his eyes.

Something pulses through his hand when he touches the door – something that shouldn't be there. Something ancient, evil and familiar.

“I know thee ...”, Adam whispers, before pulling back and knocking on the door. He's shocked when Mrs. Allen opens the door. Normally a calm, put-together woman, never seen out without her hair done, her makeup impeccable and perfectly dressed, she looks a mess. Her hair is hanging around her face, her face is pale, her eyes are red, and she's wearing rumpled sweatpants and a stained t-shirt. Grabbing Adam's hand, she pulls him in to the house.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do ...”, her voice cracks and Adam can see she's on the verge of a breakdown. Reaching out, he hesitantly rubs her shoulder before saying, “It's alright. Take me to Kris and I'll help if I can.”

Nodding, she takes a deep breath and starts up the staircase in the hallway. Adam follows, and the presence he felt on the front door begins pulsing around him, forcing him to push through. He glances at Mrs. Allen, who doesn't seem to notice. She's moving easily up the stairs. He closes his eyes and whispers something in an ancient language; something that died out centuries ago. The presence doesn't disappear, but it lifts enough to let him through.

Mrs. Allen stops outside a door, and the pulsing presence there nearly sends Adam to his knees. Something crashes hard against the other side of the door, and he reaches for Mrs. Allen when she flinches back. A stream of curses in the same dark, old language Adam had used at the front door is unleashed.

“I locked him in,” she says tonelessly. “He'd just gone back upstairs after I asked him to please put some clothes on. He … wasn't happy, but not so far gone that he didn't do it. Then I locked the door, and he's been raging ever since. It's a good thing he's 20, or I'd have child welfare after me.” Her nervous laughter comes out more like a sob, and she bites her lip, staring at Adam.

Adam studies the door for a moment, one arm around Kris' mother, trying to offer her what comfort he could. The house, thankfully, is a solid, old brick house, and the foundations aren't going to give way all that easily. But they are going to give way. “How long has he been in there?”

“Since yesterday morning. I – I didn't notice anything strange, not at first. He seemed … restless. I just put it down to summertime boredom. He hadn't been able to pick up a job and was moping around the house. A few days ago – a few days ago he … he looked at me with such – venom. He's never looked at me like that. So I started paying closer attention to his behaviour.”

Mrs. Allen glances at Adam, who nods for her to continue. They don't have long, but he needs to hear this.

“He … he stopped eating. Or going outside. I would hear him – talking. Only it didn't sound like him. And the language – I had never heard it before. I thought he was sick, maybe, but … I don't know. I tried to get him to see the doctor, but he wouldn't leave the house. I thought maybe – drugs, but I couldn't find anything. So I – went looking on the internet.” She looks Adam in the eye. “That's how I found out … what happened. To you. And the descriptions of that girl – they matched what's happening with Kris. And ...” she trails off, flinching as Kris crashes into the door again, shouting.

Turning to Adam in the silence after the crash she says, “So – what do you think? Do you … think he's possessed?” Adam and Kris' mother flinch as Kris crashes against the door yet again, roaring. She shakes her head in lost confusion. “He's been talking like that for two days and I don't understand what he's saying.”

“I do,” Adam says quietly. Taking a deep breath, he looks Mrs. Allen in the eye. “I think I can help, but I need you to tell me: do you trust me? Because you can't be in there with – with this. And I will pull Kris out of it if I can, but I need you to trust me.” Adam's hands shake a little bit on Kris' mother's arm, and she looks there before looking him in the eye. She searches the blue depths for a long time, running a finger under the dark shadows there.

“You need a drink,” she says, her voice soft. Adam closes his eyes for a second. He starts to speak, but Mrs. Allen puts a finger on his lips. “You are no good to my son with the shakes. I'm not sure how much better you'll be with alcohol, but I truly believe you are Kris' last chance. Wait here.” Adam slumps against the wall by the bedroom door, wincing when Kris crashes into it again, and this time the foundations of the house shake. He doesn't have long.

Mrs. Allen comes back up the stairs, with a full glass of something golden brown and Adam feels his mouth water. He pulls himself back up to standing, takes the glass, and drinks deep. He closes his eyes at the warm burn in his empty stomach, but his hands stop shaking.

He looks Mrs. Allen in the eye and says, “I need you to answer my question, Mrs. Allen. Do you trust me with your son?” She takes the glass, now nearly empty and nods. “I trust you, Adam. Just. Just bring him back to me.”

“Alright. Go back downstairs. Do not come back up here for any reason, until I – we come down. Okay?” He waits until she nods, reluctantly, but at least she's listening. “If you think it'll help you, maybe call some of your friends. Pray. Prayer does help, you know.” He offers a smile, and knows it's not much to be sending her on her way with, then watches her go back down the stairs, before turning the key she's given him in the door, slipping in, and locking it behind him.

Kris turns and snarls at him. He looks feral. He's thin, his hair is ragged and dirty, and the t-shirt and shorts he's wearing are filthy and hanging off his frame. His dark eyes have a red tinge around the iris and large shadows underneath. His room is destroyed, and it smells rank; like sweat, and vomit with a darker undertone. Like a body has been set on fire and left to smolder.

When Kris sees Adam, he rocks back on his heels and then he's across the room, moving so fast that Adam doesn't see it. He presses Adam against the bedroom door and digs his fingers into his arm.

Adam winces at the pain – Kris' fingers feel hot, and cold at the same time; like being burned by ice.

Kris himself is on fire, giving off the same waves of hot and cold. The demon behind Kris' eyes studies Adam for a moment. “I know thee ...” it says, in a low, raspy voice that is Kris but isn't at the same time. As though he's spent the better part of a day just screaming and he's about to lose his voice.

Adam stands as still as he can, fighting the urge to run out of the door and out of the house as the demon inside Kris pushes against him, causing a surge of white hot pain through his torso. Hissing in pain, he tries to break Kris' hold, but the demon just laughs and says again, “I know thee. I have met thee before. Thou art – thou was – a priest then.”

The demon lets Adam go and steps back. Cocking Kris' head, the demon watches Adam with interest. “If thou art not a priest now, how art thou going to save the boy?”

Adam resists the urge to rub his arms and says, “I figured something out after – after last time. I don't need to be a priest to defeat you. In fact, that got in my way last time. All I needed was knowledge.” Adam starts moving towards Kris, finally backing him on to the bed. There's a sneer on Kris' face as he falls back on to the bed, propping himself up on his elbows. Adam keeps talking.

“I went to Syria. To the Roman ruins. And I started wondering what might be under those ruins. Under the desecrated church. What if, I thought, that was just window dressing? A distraction?” He's right by the bed now, hovering over Kris, whose eyes are flickering everywhere around the room but avoiding Adam. “And,” Adam says, “It turns out I was right. I know exactly what I need to do to get rid of you once and for all. And I am not talking about banishment, demon. I am talking about annihilation.”

The demon stares at Adam for a second, then cocks his head, as though something has just occurred to him. Adam watches carefully, knowing that he can't let his concentration be broken. Not now. Suddenly, a light flares in the dark eyes and for a second, they look as though they're on fire.

“Oh …,” the demon says, cracked and raspy. “Thou wants.” It's gleeful, because it's hit on the one thing that will distract Adam from what he needs to do here.

He's thrown and wishes he had asked Mrs. Allen to bring the bottle with her when she brought him his drink earlier. He shakes his head, because denial about this has been his default for the past two years.

“No,” he says.

“Oh, but thou dost.” The demon stalks Adam's torso with one hand, resting it on his neck. Adam grits his teeth against the pain, and the demon leans in, whispering in Adam's ear, “What thou does not know is that the boy also wants.”

Adam freezes, a different kind of chill than the demon's touch settling into his bones. No, he thinks. Oh, no. And does his best to suppress the tiny bubble of hope that blooms in his chest. Hope could get him and Kris killed.

“No,” he says. “Thou lies.”

“Yes. I do. But I am not lying about this. The boy wants thee. Why do you think I am here? Why do you think I took the boy, instead of you?” Laughing, the demon pulls back, but not before stroking down Adam's torso with a finger. He kneels back on the bed, smirking.

Adam frowns for a second, his brain making connections that he's not aware of at first. Then he gets it. “Oh. Oh … this is about the girl. But – she died. She died during the ceremony.”

The demon closes the space between them again and strokes Adam's face. “Yes, she died. But thou still saved her. Lucifer punished me for that. And thou dost not want to make the Son of the Morning angry. So when my punishment was ended, I came looking for thee. And look what I found.” The demon makes a shallow thrust forward, and Adam can't ignore the obscene erection straining at the filthy shorts riding low on Kris' hips. Closing his eyes, he searches his mind and his memory for something that will help him.

He mentally flips through his life, looking for something to anchor him, and to hopefully bring Kris back as well. And then. It's barely more than a moment in Adam's life. He's about 17, and he can't sleep. It's late – about 2 in the morning. It's summer and he and his family are at some lake for a vacation. Adam's sitting on a wharf jutting out over the lake. He lies back, and stares up at the stars until he falls asleep lying there.

In that moment, which flashes through his brain in no more than a second, Adam finds the anchor he needs. Because in order to believe in God, you have to believe in demons. But the opposite is also true.

He opens his eyes and catches Kris' wrist between his fingers when the demon lifts it to touch his face again., Adam squeezes the wrist as hard as he can, silently apologising to Kris for hurting him. “Enough. I have had enough.” He takes Kris' other wrist in his other hand, squeezes it tight, and looks him in the eye: talking directly to the demon.

Adam starts speaking in a low voice. It's the demon's language; older than humankind itself. It's not written down anywhere, and Adam has traveled far, and long to learn it. The demon tries to wrestle out of Adam's grip, but Adam hangs on, whispering; chanting.

The demon is panting now, and desperate. He bares his teeth at Adam and whispers to him: “I will let thee have the boy. Let me go, and the boy is thine. Otherwise, I will take him with me to hell.”

Adam presses his forehead against Kris' still staring the demon in the eye. For a second, he's tempted. Let the demon go, and he'll have Kris. But. Demons lie. Demons come back …

“No. I know thee. I know thou lies. There is no trade.” Without breaking the stare, or letting go of Kris' wrists, Adam begins the whispering chant again, concentrating as hard as he can, because it's a delicate balance between destroying the demon and destroying Kris as well. He knows he's getting somewhere when the demon begins to struggle even harder and it takes every ounce of strength Adam has to hold on. The chant seems to go on forever, like he and the demon are trapped inside their own kind of hell; or a purgatory that never changes. Adam chants, and chants and hangs on, until he feels the shift; the change in the atmosphere around them and he knows that he's won.

With an extra burst of energy, he folds Kris' wrists in front of him, hanging on tight now, and whispers the last words of the chant – the destruction – straight into his mouth.

Kris' body arches, and he lets out a great shout, before sagging against Adam, unconscious but – Adam holds his breath until he sees a tiny flutter of pulse in Kris' neck – breathing. Adam lets out his own breath, and looks around the room as he gently lays Kris back on the bed and uncurls his hands from around his wrists. Adam winces when he sees the bruises he's inflicted but he thinks Kris will forgive him.

Adam closes his eyes again, and takes a deep breath, tasting the air as he does. It still smells disgusting, but all the smells now are human ones. He's exhausted and the shakes are threatening to take over his whole body. With a last, great, force of will, he unlocks the door and staggers downstairs to the living room, where he hears Mrs. Allen leading a decade of the rosary. Adam slumps by the wall for a second, mesmerised by the murmur of the familiar prayer. Then he pushes himself up, and staggers in the door, where he's caught by one of the other women.

Mrs. Allen drops her rosary beads and rushes to his side. “Adam? Adam? Kris? Tell me - “ He slumps into a seat and sags down. “Kris … Kris is fine.” He pauses for a minute while laughter and crying take over the room. He lifts an arm for Mrs. Allen and says, “He needs food. Something easy to digest, because he's probably going to throw it up again to start with. And he should see a doctor. I need … I need to go.” Adam starts to get up, but thinks better of it when the room starts spinning. One of Mrs. Allen's friends – a nurse he thinks – pushes his head between his legs and says, “Breathe deep.”

“I'm alright. Kris is the one who needs help. I just need to – to get out of here.” He doesn't remember anything else after that.

 

One Year Later

 

Adam mutters as he packs his bag, going over his list in his mind. He's traveling light, but can't afford to forget anything. Father McCall watches him from the bedroom doorway.

In his mind's eye, he sees Adam as Mrs. Allen and her friends brought him back a year ago. Something about coming off his bike, and drinking. Father McCall doesn't believe the story, but doesn't pursue it either, when he sees Mrs. Allen's eyes. Whatever has gone on, it's none of his business. Adam was … wrecked. Wreckage, almost. Father McCall had put up with the drinking for as long as he could, because he knew that Adam had gone through something profound, and life-changing before landing on Father McCall's doorstep. But there came a point where drinking became the focus, instead of healing whatever had become broken inside.

So he started talking, tentatively to Adam about rehab. And, eventually, reluctantly, Adam agreed. He was gone for two months, and came back fit, and focused. Looking forward to the future again, he said. Mrs. Allen had come to see him; something about a message from Kris, away again at college. Father McCall has a feeling that Adam was tied up somehow with the Allen boy's strange sickness last summer, but once again, he doesn't ask.

And now … “Are you sure about this Adam? Syria?”

Adam looks up from his packing, grinning. He looks younger than 31, and free, somehow. “I'm sure, Father. It's something I need to do. A calling, if you like.” And Father McCall nods. He can understand that.

He goes to answer the door when the bell rings, and is surprised to see Kris on his doorstep. “Hello, there, Kris. Home for the summer?”

“Uh … sort of, Father McCall. Is – is Adam here? I need to talk to him.” Father McCall steps back from the door and says, “He's in his room, packing. Off back to Syria tomorrow.” He points down the hallway and disappears into the kitchen, happy to see the boy, but puzzled as to what he wants with Adam.

Kris leans on the doorframe, watching Adam methodically packing a large backpack, his back to the door. “Adam,” he says softly, and winces when Adam jumps and whirls around.  
“Oh … I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you. I just – um. Father McCall said you were leaving?”

Adam sits down on the edge of the bed, and Kris sits in the armchair across the room. Kris stares at him for a moment, and the silence starts to stretch out thin. “Um. I – I never got a chance to thank you. For … for what you did last year. My mom hustled me back to college early and - '' Adam holds up a hand and Kris trails off into silence.

“It's okay, Kris. I understand. I wouldn't have wanted to be around me either. I hurt you pretty badly.” Kris rubs his wrist for a moment and says softly, “Not as bad as - ''

“Don't. Don't say it. Please.”

Kris stands up, and comes over to stand in front of Adam on the bed. Adam's tall, and he's not used to having to look up at people. “If my mother hadn't sent me back to school, I would have been able to thank you properly for what you did.” Leaning down, Kris presses his mouth against Adam's briefly, and Adam tastes warmth there, and something else maybe.

Kris steps back, and smiles.

“Well, as far as thank yous go, that's one of the better ones I've had,” Adam says, and Kris laughs, breaking the tension. He sits back in the armchair, but leans forward. “You – found out that I liked you. “ It's a statement rather than a question, and Adam nods, warily, remembering the way he found out.

“How do you feel now?”, Adam asks, almost afraid to hear the answer. Kris laces his fingers together and studies them for a minute, before looking Adam in the eye again. “I made a bargain with myself. I would finish this year at school, and I'd come back here and see you. And. If I felt the same way as I did last year, I'd kiss you.”

“I – oh.”

“Right. Oh. And … I'm coming with you. To Syria. My mom told me you were leaving. And everything fell into place for me then.”

Adam is already shaking his head. “Kris … no. I can't let you do that. You should finish school first ...” but Kris is already shaking his head. “No. I can't finish school knowing you're out there somewhere, maybe in danger. I can't do it.”

Kris twists himself out of the chair again, and reaches for Adam's hands, pulling him up. Kris wraps his arms around Adam, and leans into him, closing his eyes and listening to the steady heartbeat.

“And it's not about letting me. I have to come with you. I can hear them, Adam. Whispering. Not to me but – whispering out there in the world. I think you need me. Not just as – what we might become to each other, but you need my help with … those things.”

Hesitantly Adam wraps his arms around Kris, resting his hands on the small of Kris' back.

“When did it start?” he asks.

“Not until I went back to college. I knew what it was straight away. And I knew that – sooner or later – you'd be going to look for them.” Kris leans back in the circle of Adam's arms and looks him in the eye.

“There's more of them, aren't there? They're getting out somehow.”

Reluctantly, Adam nods. “I don't know how. But that's why I'm going to Syria. I need to find out.”

“And I'm going with you. I don't know why, or how, but I need to be with you. So if you're going to Syria, so am I. Now. Um. I think you should kiss me, and finish packing.”

Adam tries to marshal a valid argument, but he can't think of one. If he's honest with himself, he's glad Kris is coming with him. And if Kris can hear demons whispering … he'll know where to find them. He studies Kris' face for a moment longer, says “Alright,” very softly and kisses Kris. Lightly at first, but it's not long before the kiss deepens.

Kris pulls back first, a little breathless, his face flushed. Adam rubs Kris' bottom lip with his thumb, smiling, and a little startled. He says, “If you're coming with me, you'd better go pack.”


End file.
